too close to the flame
by coleytaylor
Summary: "Jocelyn, have you met Clary's girlfriend?" Luke says. It's nice of him to be so supportive, except Clary doesn't have a girlfriend. She hasn't even talked to that many girls lately, except— Oh. "Isabelle's a great shadowhunter."


**AN: this was written as part of the tmifemslash winter exchange (2016) and is a gift for lightwoodlesbians on tumblr. the title is from gimme sympathy by metric.**

* * *

After the euphoria of seeing her mom again fades, reality kicks in. Shadowhunting during peaceful times seems dangerous enough, but they're in the middle of a war. Clary could die, or Jocelyn could end up in another magical coma, or something could happen to Luke... and Clary would feel so stupid for waiting any longer to come out to her parents.

So she does it at her first opportunity. The night after Jocelyn wakes up, the three of them have dinner together, almost like old times. Except, it's at the corner of the Institute cafeteria, and they aggressively don't talk about Valentine, and it's nothing like before. At least she doesn't have to worry about ruining a nice meal.

"Mom, Luke," she says, putting down her fork and taking a deep breath. They look at her expectantly, and she can't meet their eyes. "I'm gay."

Clary looks at them now. Her mom's eyebrows have gone up, but in a surprised way, not an angry way. But Luke looks... He's nodding, like this is old news.

"Jocelyn, have you met Clary's girlfriend?" he says. It's nice of him to be so supportive, except Clary doesn't have a girlfriend. She hasn't even talked to that many girls lately, except— Oh. "Isabelle's a great shadowhunter."

Her mother smiles at Luke, and then at her. "You'll have to introduce me, Clary."

Clary mumbles a yes, and pushes around her mashed potatoes. Yes, she'll have to introduce her.

* * *

Clary forgets all about the Isabelle-is-her-girlfriend situation until the next weekend. Okay, she doesn't forget about it at all; she thinks about it almost constantly, but it doesn't come up again until then, anyway. The next weekend is the Institute's holiday party, when her mom decides that she should get to know Isabelle. Clary's girlfriend.

Izzy is, luckily enough, in her room when Clary knocks. She's got some sort of science book open on her bed, and a bottle of red nail polish in her hand. Very seasonal.

"Hey, Iz, can you do me a favor?" Clary says, starting to sit down on the bed and thinking better of it. She hovers at the edge of the room, even after Izzy's warm nod. "So, I came out to my mom the other day," she starts.

"That's great," Izzy says.

"Yeah, she took it really well!" Clary looks away. "She wants to meet my girlfriend..."

Izzy laughs, and then seems to piece it together. "Does she think it's me? That's so funny!"

"Ha, yeah," Clary says, rolling her eyes. "Pretty crazy." She's totally overdoing it.

Izzy blows on her still-drying nails, shakes them in Clary's general direction. "Do you need me to cover for you?"

"Yeah, that would be great." Clary's blush could be bottled and sold as Sally Hanson's newest color. "You don't have to kiss me or anything," she adds hastily. "I know you're not into girls."

"When," Izzy smirks, a delicate eyebrow rising, "did I ever say that?"

There's no way Clary's going to make it through this night.

* * *

Clary has to arrive at the party late, after a politics lesson with Jace, so she and Izzy can't get ready together. As Clary walks into the party, she thinks that might have been for the best. Izzy is wearing a skintight red dress to match her nails, and despite her insistence that Clary is the only one flat-chested enough to get by without a bra, there is no chance one would fit under the tight bodice. Clary feels underdressed in her christmas sweater, especially when Izzy swoops over to greet her.

"We should stick together," Izzy says, wrapping her arm around Clary's waist. "So your parents will see us."

"It's not like they're not going to believe we're dating if we're apart for two minutes," Clary mutters, but she doesn't push away Izzy's arm.

The party is quite a lot of fun. Clary tries shadowhunter eggnog, which Izzy will not tell her the secret ingredient to, no matter what she promises in return. They dance to _Feliz Navidad_ and _White Christmas_ and the dreidel song, which Jace added to annoy Simon. They go to the library to watch Jace and Simon play a heated match of strip dreidel until it gets weird. Finally, after listening to Magnus talk for ten full minutes about the christmas tree he saw in Vatican City in 1755, Luke and Jocelyn arrive.

Her mom doesn't look at Izzy like she's looked at Clary's past boyfriends. She doesn't size her up.

"It's lovely to finally meet you, Ms. Fray," Izzy says, a picture of etiquette. She holds out a hand, which Jocelyn takes, smiling.

They exchange pleasantries, and then sit down at a table for the requisite grilling.

"When I was in the Circle," Luke says, and Izzy tenses up like she's heard the Dark Lord's name, "I knew your parents. We both did." He gestures to include Jocelyn.

"I am not my parents," Isabelle says.

"I know," Luke says, and he places his hand on top of Izzy's where it sits on the table. "I know what it must have been like growing up with them. I want you to know that you're always welcome with us."

Isabelle's face is guarded, the way it only is when her parents are brought up, but she nods, anyway, and Clary has to remind herself that this isn't real.

It is Jocelyn who breaks the silence. "So, what's this I hear about forensic pathology?" she asks.

Clary grins. This is going to be fun.

* * *

Last passover, there was a bit of a mixup with grape juice and wine, and Clary and Simon ended up red-faced and giggling through the haggadah. The way Clary feels now is a lot like that, even though Izzy insists that the eggnog is virgin. They dance together, but Clary could be floating. She could burst like a balloon, over-inflated with the success her illusion and the holiday spirit and Isabelle.

A slow song comes on, and Clary starts to grab Izzy's hand, instinctively pull her off the dance floor. It's a reflex leftover from high school dances, when going to the dance with a "girlfriend" had to mean something completely different. Slow dances were reserved for the real couples.

"Where are you going?" Izzy says, pulling her back.

Clary smiles in answer, and guides Izzy's hands to her waist. They start off like that, like they're thirteen and will get a slap on the wrist for not leaving room for Jesus, but as Mariah Carey croons on, their stilted embrace melts. They rock back and forth, and Clary finds her head on Izzy's shoulder, right next to the other girl's ear.

"Thank you so much for tonight," she murmurs. All she has to do is murmur; they're so close.

"It was my pleasure."

She's glad Izzy can't see how much she's smiling.

The song ends, and Clary takes a step back. After their embrace, standing a normal distance away from Izzy feels much too far. The party's winding down; people have already started to leave, but Clary isn't ready for the night to end.

"Mistletoe," Izzy says, looking above them. Clary's eyes follow to the sprig above them, glowing suspiciously blue. She'll have to remember to find Magnus later, to either thank him or yell at him, depending on how this goes.

"Mistletoe," Clary agrees, as noncommittally as is possible in the vicinity of Isabelle Lightwood. Izzy's pink lip gloss is reflecting the light, and Clary's definitely been staring at it for too long. She forces herself to meet Izzy's eyes. It's not right to look at her like this, especially after everything Izzy has done for her. "We don't have to—" She doesn't finish the thought. "Kiss" feels like a dirty word, standing this close.

"Nobody's watching, anyway," Izzy says.

Clary steps back. "We can probably call it a night." She tries not to sound disappointed. It's pathetic, really, how much she's enjoyed this sham of an evening. Although, other than the dancing, it hasn't been much different from other nights they've spent together.

"Clary," Izzy says, before she can walk away, and if she looks disappointed, too, Clary must be imagining things. She certainly doesn't smirk, doesn't eye Clary like she has any romantic conquest.

Clary takes a step forward, back into Izzy's personal space. She lets herself stare. "Yes?" she breathes.

"Kiss me."

Clary does.


End file.
